


There will be blood

by Farfarella (ilovetherain)



Category: Merlin (BBC) RPF
Genre: M/M, Roleplay, Rough Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-09
Updated: 2010-02-09
Packaged: 2017-10-07 03:20:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/60881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ilovetherain/pseuds/Farfarella
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The flat is on the top level of an ancient building facing the Liffey.<br/>It's an anonymous, rather peripheral and dismal area, at least compared to the lively and posh centre of Dublin. And the building itself is old, some would say decaying, with its scraped walls, the constant musty smell lingering on the staircase and the wooden floors creaking under every step. There isn't even an elevator."</p>
            </blockquote>





	There will be blood

**Author's Note:**

> Great beta job from Tacitus 3  
> Warnings: don't know... does smut needs a warning? Anyway: SMUT, lot of it. And a bit of rough sex.  
> Disclaimer: it's all in my mind but my shrink says it's ok.  
> Author's Notes (A/N): written for bradleycolin's RPS challenge #1 on LiveJourna, prompt # 6.  
> Author's Notes (A/N) 2:In here, Colin and Bradley are a bit older (let's say 24 and 26) and famous.  
> After reading few comments about the dark themes in "The sea change", I began to fancy the idea that Colin is not such the innocent cutie I used to think. And this intrigues me, a lot.

The flat is on the top level of an ancient building facing the Liffey.   
It's an anonymous, rather peripheral and dismal area, at least compared to the lively and posh centre of Dublin. And the building itself is old, some would say decaying, with its scraped walls, the constant musty smell lingering on the staircase and the wooden floors creaking under every step. There isn't even an elevator.

But Colin loves it. It's quiet; solid and comforting. And neighbourhood is discrete; he can still enjoy a beer in the pub next door without anyone begging for a picture or an autograph.  
What Colin loves the most, though, is the sight of the port, with its two tall chimneys that seem to bid you farewell every time you leave and welcome you back when you return. They are always there, waiting, and you can see them for miles.

_I'll be there / I'll be there / Tonight..._

The exhaustion of the six hours flight from New York and the jetlag – he has changed eight time zones in four weeks to promote that bloody movie, it'd better be a blast – hit him like a blow as soon as he closes the door behind his back.   
He feels disconnected. He has spent the whole past month being polite, cheerful and cute, and repeating the same things over and over again - yes, it has been an emotionally involving role; yes, the weather has been a living nightmare but the cast and the director are amazing people and it made everything easier; of course he is thrilled for the Academy nomination; no, at the moment he has no news about a fifth series of Merlin; no, there is no chance he and Bradley James will work in a movie together in the near future.

Idiots.

Sometimes he thinks he can't stand all this shit a moment longer. But now he is home and the comfortable silence of its thick walls helps him to keep under control that ravaging need to scream or break something... Or somebody.   
Maybe all he needs now is a hot shower and a cold beer. Not necessarily in that order.  
He grabs a bottle of Smithwick from the refrigerator, empties half in a long gulp and heads for the bedroom, wondering if he'll be lucky enough to find a pair of clean boxers in his travel bag.

The bedroom is as he left it: a total mess. Linens and pillows that haven't been picked up in a month are scattered on the floor. The sock he had so desperately searched for the morning of his departure, causing him to almost miss the flight, lies undisturbed in front of him. Even the empty box of pralines is still there, empty and abandoned on the bed.

_Of course it's still there. Whoever could have picked it up?_

He'll have to tidy up, eventually. Now, he thinks, another beer is a far better idea.

"Look who's back."

Colin's heart jumps in his chest and the bottle slips from his hand, crashing onto the floor.

"What the fuck, Bradley! Want to give me a heart attack?"

After two attempts Colin finally finds the switch and the dark living room is lit with a suffuse, orange glow.

Bradley is sitting on the old sofa, one leg nonchalantly hooked on the arm, the other stretched out. He is barefoot and wearing a black t-shirt and black jeans. He has cut his hair again – Colin wonders if it is due to the new movie or what. His face looks more angular, even haunted, but maybe it's just the effect of the lighting.  
Colin moves away from the couch, carefully trying to avoid splinters and pieces of glass.

"What are you doing here?"

"You gave me the keys," says Bradley, dangling a bunch of keys on an incredibly ugly Bart Simpson shaped keychain. "Did you forget, honey?"

The mockery in Bradley's voice is very irritating, but Colin decides to ignore it. He has no energy for this right now.

"Fuck off, Brad, I'm not in the mood." He makes for the bedroom, his fingers clenching and unclenching nervously.

"Oh. Somebody seems to have lost his manners here. _Bradley! I'm so happy to see you again after so long! How are you? How has the flight from London been? Mine has been a living hell, otherwise I wouldn't be that bitchy--_"

"STOP IT! Stop it, ok? I'm tired, I'm hungry, I need a shower and I don't want you fucking around right now, understand?"

Colin's rage is genuine. It reverberates from the inside, making him shake a little. When he turns to face Bradley, the other man has left the couch and followed him to the bedroom.

"You're _never_ in the mood, Morgan." Bradley moves closer, dangerously invading Colin's personal space with his body and that scornful grin that apparently has become Bradley James' personal trademark.  
Colin stretches his hand out, warningly.

"Don't--"

But Bradley is fast, and strong, and Colin finds himself pinned against the door, his wrists secured over his head.

Bradley opens Colin's legs with his knee and presses their bodies together; he is already hard but Colin is too, and this makes him feel ashamed of himself. Such a lack of will.

"I didn't take a fucking low-cost flight from London for nothing, dear," Bradley whispers. There's something vicious his eyes; Colin wonders if he is drunk, or drugged.

There will be blood; this he knows for sure.

"Then do me. Fuck me then leave me the fu--"

Bradley's mouth is on Colin's before he can finish his sentence. His lower lip is caught between the clatter of teeth and Bradley bites it, hard. Colin jerks in pain, feels the blood running down his chin. With the blood some of his anger flows away as well; he feels the cage of obligations beginning to shatter and he can breathe again.  
And then Bradley is lapping at his fucking blood, and shoving his tongue, slippery and salty, inside Colin's mouth. Colin doesn't protest, doesn't bite back; he just moans and gives in, shamelessly sucking it, again and again.   
Bradley is fucking his mouth and he is almost coming on it. He wants release so badly, and he tries to convey his need by sucking harder, moaning harder and riding Bradley's thigh harder.  
_Frottage_, one of his favourite words.

But Bradley must have a different opinion on the issue because he suddenly pulls back and looks at Colin, eyes hungry and lips glistening red with saliva and blood – Colin's blood.  
He is panting hard but still in control. He manhandles Colin to face the door: hands on the wood, legs parted. It looks a lot like a fucking perquisition, too alike the sequence in Colin's latest movie.

Colin doesn't move, he just rests his brow on the door and waits. The only sound in the room is his heavy breathing. The lip hurts like hell.   
He doesn't move even when Bradley unzips his trousers, fingers grazing over his skin while he lowers them just below Colin's ass, leaving him exposed, and then moves away.  
Colin knows Bradley is looking at him, he can well imagine the other man burning, hungry stare and the tongue wetting quickly his lips.

"You know," Bradley finally says, "it's a real pity that the guys at Warner are such prudes. I wouldn't have minded seeing you fucked by that big policemen guy during the perquisition sequence."

"It's a detective drama, not some sort of gang bang porn movie." Colin can hear the exhaustion in his own voice.

"I know. It's a pity though." Bradley moves closer to him and Colin can feel the tip of his cock nudging at his entrance, teasing, and Bradley breath hot on his neck.

Colin looks at him over his shoulder. "Do _you_ want to fuck me like this, then?"

Bradley drums his chin, pensively.

"No. Bed."

He grabs Colin and pushes him on the bed. Colin can barely kick his sneakers off before Bradley shoves him back and begins to divest him of shirt and trousers, throwing them to the floor.  
Bradley hasn't taken Colin's boxer-brief away, though. He spreads the younger man's legs wide, until Colin hisses in pain, the burning of overstretched muscles and tendons almost unbearable. Than Bradley gives him another hungry look and starts to lap at Colin's cock through the cotton, sucking at the head.   
Colin props on his elbows to look at the blond head moving between his legs; Bradley brushes his thumbs on Colin's inner thighs while he strokes him with his tongue. This and the roughness of the wet fabric against the oversensitive skin make Colin gasp and rock his hips in the hope of getting more.

"You stay still," warns Bradley, then leaves his position between Colin's thighs to move higher. Colin holds his breath because he knows, he knows what's going to come next.   
His nipples are already hard, throbbing in anticipation. Colin throws his head back and closes his eyes -- he cannot help himself. He lifts his chest, he needs Bradley to touch them.

"You have such girlish nipples, you know?", Bradley whispers, lazily outlining his lips on one of them. "A horny teenager girl. Or boy. Mmmmh, look how swollen and hard they are." He sucks one and teases it just with the tip of his tongue.

Colin would say something but he can't. Sensations are overwhelming, blood rushing straight to his belly, making his cock throbbing hard. His boxers are drenched with precome and Bradley's saliva. This is his weak spot and he still remembers a night some years ago when Bradley made he come from just brushing his nipples through his shirt and breathing dirty suggestions on his neck. In a theatre full of people.  
The memory almost sends him over the edge and he grabs his cock because he has to...  
But Bradley is faster and bats his hand away.

"Don't. You. Dare," he pants. He's turned on as well, beautiful and sweaty and huge; his cock springs out from his half-lowered jeans, hard and glistening.  
Colin wants it inside him. Wants Bradley to fuck him senselessly until he can feel emptied of everything but him.

"Then fuck me," he murmurs. And he is well aware Bradley will comply this time.  
He licks his lips while watching Bradley undress quickly, sending his clothes to joining the already considerable gathering on the floor.  
"You know," Colin says idly, "I think I really need a cleaning lady to pick up after you.".

Bradley raises an eyebrow but doesn't answer. Instead he shakes his head and rips Colin's boxers off. And with deliberation throws them over his shoulders.

"On your belly," he orders.

Bradley swears while fumbling with the condom. It seems like an obscenely long time until he finally spreads Colin's thighs, unceremoniously, and bends over him. Just a bit of lube, no preparation. In a single, hard shove Bradley is inside of him and Colin screams. The pain is mind-blowing, and he lets his head fall on the pillow, breath fast and ragged.

"Hurts... fuck it hurts."

"I know, I know... I'm sorry." Bradley is heavy and solid over him, and kisses Colin's neck and shoulders, muttering apologies, but he doesn't stop. He pulls back a little and than pushes again, hard, and Colin keeps his eyes closed and bites his fist to not screaming, his hands grabbing and twisting the sheets as if his life depends on it.  
And finally the dull sense of frustration and helplessness that has swallowed him all along the previous month begins to disappear, along with the pain.

Bradley's thrusts are less erratic now, deeper and focused. Colin feels his cock hardening again, trapped between his belly and the mattress.

"Ride me," Bradley tells him, voice hoarse. And Colin does. They swap position quickly – so used to it – and when Colin guides Bradley's cock inside of him, the burning makes him hiss. But then Bradley grasps his hips and compels him to move.  
Colin arches back, one hand on the mattress to hold his weight, the other on his cock. He rides Bradley with steady, intense movements, undulating his hips back and forth. Not too fast. He wants to enjoy the heat building inside and wants to enjoy Bradley's handsome and exhausted face while he finishes him.  
It takes them very little. Colin finally comes with Bradley's hand closed on his cock, jerking him off. He screams, his muscles tense and relax, tense and relax... It seems to go on forever, hot fluid gushing over his belly, until Bradley bends forwards, grasps Colin's hips and comes hard inside of him, groaning.

***

At four in the morning Colin is still wide awake.  
He would get up and take some melatonin but Bradley is spooning him and the last thing Colin wants is to move away from him. At least, until their hectic lives claim them back.

"Can't sleep?" Bradley's voice is drowsy, and he brushes Colin's shoulder with a light kiss.

"Fucking jetlag. You're awake?"

"You are tossing and turning like an eel, you woke me up."

"Me? You were deader then a corpse, and you were snoring."

Bradley mumbles something unintelligible.

They stay silent for a while, listening to the rain pattering on the window.

"Thank you," Colin says in the end.

"Better?"

"Yeah. A lot."

"You are fucked up, you know that, Morgan?" But Bradley is affectionately caressing his arm while he talks, so Colin figures he is not upset.

"I know. I'm sorry."

"You don't have too be. I've missed you so fucking much, by the way."

***

In the morning, while Bradley is whistling happily under the shower, Colin stares at the battlefield that is now their bedroom. Clothes, pillows, shoes, socks, even the quilt. Everything scattered on the floor. The sheets are so rolled up he figures it'd be better to throw them away and buy new ones instead of trying to disentangle them.  
Colin thinks this is a rather recurring picture.

He is a mess too. His lower lips throbs, his nipples are still sore and sensitive, not to mention his ass. There is dried blood on his inner thigh. He is a mess, and he is happy because he hasn't felt this alive and free in a long time and because Bradley is with him and doesn't think he's too much of a freak.  
Looking at the disaster that is his room, he wonders if there is a sort of cosmic symbolism behind this.   
Chaos as a necessity to better allow order and duties and the suffocating overimposed organization that has become his life. Like a sort of catharsis.  
So, before beginning to pick things up from the floor, he takes a picture of the messed up room with his mobile – just a memento for the bad moments – and smiles at it.

[source](http://mutepablo.deviantart.com/art/Messy-bedroom-94948517)

 

*And this is the end*

**Author's Note:**

> NOTE: The lyrics _I'll be there / I'll be there / Tonight..._ are from U2's A sort of homecoming, and the aforementioned chimneys can be se at the very beginning of U2's video "Pride"  
> NOTE2: the flat in Dublin mentioned in the opening chapter does exist (or existed), I've been there for a brief time during one of my trip in Dublin (nostalgic sigh).


End file.
